Bibi ka Muqbara

It was sad to see the slowly crumbling vestiges of a once powerful opulent empire. An empire that had the extra cash to build two almost identical, massive structures on opposite sides of the country. Bibi ka maqbara was built by the son of Aurangzeb, who was the founder of Aurangabad and the son of Shah Jahan, the emperor who built the Taj Mahal. It was meant to rival the Taj, but sadly the architectural fashion of the day resulted in it being less ornate, and therefore, less appreciated in the centuries that followed. It is, without doubt a beautiful and impressive structure but sadly it is always compared to the Taj. And it always falls short and thus has always been neglected.

I strolled around the mausoleum and imagined how it would have looked when it was built, with its shiny marble designs, its ungratified walls, it’s well kept gardens and its pools filled with water. I shouldn’t be too hard on them though, it’s still commendable that a 300 year old building has been kept largely in tact. But they could have done better.
Perhaps my view was tainted because I had just lost my phone.

I was talking on it when I got into the rickshaw and when I got out it was gone, but finding out where that rickshaw driver went and how I could find him again seemed hopeless. I had a robust session of haggling with him before I got in as well so perhaps this was some kind of payback. All my numbers were in there. And worse yet I was imagining the lecture I was going to get from my parents when I told them, especially given how I had lost my phone the last time I was in India.

Without my phone I felt naked. Unable to call anyone if anything happened to me. Removed from the world. I cant remember the last time I was phoneless. It’s a strange feeling, liberating, scary and lonely all at the same time. Iv decided im going to try it for a week when I get back to Brisbane just to see how it goes.

So there I was, the sun setting, phoneless, helpless and annoyed. I took a seat directly in front of the building in between two big clay pots. It was the best seat in the house and as the sun set and shone red and yellow onto the white monument all its imperfections disappeared. I sat for about and hour and watched all the colours, first the brown of smog, then yellow, orange, red and black and finally was appreciate it as Aurangzeb intended.

So about my phone, after another haggling session to get a rickshaw back I went to the stand where I caught the original ric. Long story short, I was super lucky, the driver had found it and I eventually got it back. I paid him a bakshish (prize) of 500 rupees but realized soon after that maybe I was swindled. Did the driver take my phone in the scuffle at the very beginning with the sole intention of getting a bakshish?

Can I hold such a dim view of humanity to think that this is actually possible? I decided to err on the side of trust. It’s better to believe that everyone is honest and be disappointed occasionally than believe that everyone is dishonest. The driver, Shriram is now my driver of choice, I have his phone number, and whenever I want to go anywhere he is the one I call. It’s worked out twice so far and it seems that believing in his integrity was the right decision. Honesty 1, dishonesty 0.